Chapter One: Strangers in town

The morning sun was beating mercilessly at the sand from a cloudless sky, the temperature crept slowly towards 80 degrees, and were it not for the breeze coming in from the mountains to the northwest, staying outside would have been unbearable. The most audible sounds that could be heard were the wind whispering on the plains, and a couple of beer bottles – or glasses – breaking in the saloon. Some people were out in the streets, but not as many as normal. It was still early, not even noon. The ragged man the locals now referred to as Old Humming-Charlie could see the day as any other day in the small town of Mount Gulch.

Humming-Charlie had gotten his name because nowadays one would find him sitting at his usual spot: a bit outside at the town entrance, just humming melodies of variable genres, be they cheery or sorrowful. Ever since Mayor Deling had gotten the man's tongue cut off, that was all Humming-Charlie could do.

Surely, it was a fact that Deling wasn't mayor yet, but it was only a matter of time before he and his goons would come in and take over for Cid Kramer, the original mayor in town. Cid was a respected major, and loved by his townsmen, so naturally the town had resisted. Their price for their resistance had come in the form of Deling ordering some of his men to catch the one speaking up, leading the crowd - Humming-Charlie - and rid him of his tongue, because Charlie was a man of words. Used to be, at least. Now he was just humming all day. Deling had shouted out that he wanted to be called 'Mayor Deling' from now on, then rode out of town, laughing.

After that day, very few had dared speaking up against Deling. They all remembered Humming-Charlie's bloody mouth, and their fright for being the next one having to endure pain, kept them all in check. The residents of Mount Gulch were a peaceful brand, farmers, field workers and miners with a good temper.

At least most of them were. A few would dare to speak up again, but they were too few, and the band Deling was leading numbered more than fifteen men.

Humming-Charlie snorted. Deling was a bandit to the bone, but nevertheless, he kept himself on the right side of the law, as far as it was possible. When doing his business, he kept it hidden.

For example, when Deling had visited the town a few days ago, sheriff Nida had tried to stop them from entering the town. Deling had him shot in the back, and no one could prove anything.

And anyone who would witness his transcendences of the law never dared to speak out of fear for retribution.

This morning, a couple of Deling's men had come to town. Currently they were spending their time in the saloon, probably breaking a few bottles or playing cards. And of course, cheating. Each time Deling or his goons were in town, they spread more and more terror, and his men became more and more carefree. It was only a matter of time before they killed someone.

These were Humming-Charlie's thoughts as he looked over the plains, and suddenly spotted three shadows through the heat rising from the sandy ground. Charlie rubbed his eyes. This was a strange sight. Strangers never came to this town, and when they first came, they usually used horses or wagons. These men WALKED! Was he seeing a mirage, or had he finally gone nuts from his own humming?

As they came closer, Charlie saw they were oddly dressed, too. Well, not all of them; the tallest one looked just like a cowboy, wearing a black hat, brown chaps and a long, brown coat, a purple shirt visible underneath. Charlie crossed his thoughts of what that coat could hide. Maybe weapons? Maybe these guys came to rob the bank? Humming-Charlie had to suppress a scoffing hum: bank robbers would have been using horses, in order to make a swift escape after their deed. Charlie dismissed that thought, and looked at the shorter one.

This one had spiky blonde hair, and was dressed in blue, knee-cut jeans, and was wearing a leather jacket over a black and red shirt. The gloves on his hands had a red hue, and the area where the knuckles were, was covered with a shining layer of metal. He looked tough and relaxed, but at the same time, cheerful and smiling. Not grinning, but smiling. Not malevolent, but happy.

The last one of them, walking between those two, was another sight. He was dressed in a black leather-jacket, its collar trimmed with large white fur, and a clear white shirt underneath. Two large, copper-red belts around his pelvis area, and three smaller, black belts wrapped around his right thigh adorned the black pants he was wearing. Attached to his left side was a long holster, almost looking like a scabbard. Charlie could make out a handle sticking out of it, and a trigger that was half obscured by the holster. It looked like a shooting weapon, but Charlie had never heard of a weapon with that kind of what he guessed would be an insanely long barrel.

But if his weapon wasn't puzzling enough, his face was. It was pale and emotionally devoid, like the rock they were taking out of the mines. Like nobody or nothing did matter to him. Charlie was certain he could have fired a gun at him, and he wouldn't be faced. His demeanour was calm and confident, and even in this heat, in the black clothes that Charlie suspected had to take in cascades of heat from the sun, he did not look at all disturbed.

Something about these guys gave Charlie strange feelings. They were young, but they looked and acted like they were adults all along. A cowboy, a youngster, and a mystery. And they came to this town. For what purpose?

The three men reached the spot where Humming-Charlie was sitting, and stopped there. The cowboy and the blonde-haired boy greeted him. The black-clad man just nodded. Just now, Charlie noticed the lion necklace around his neck.

"Howdy there," the cowboy said. "Where are we?"

"What's up?" the other one asked. In response, Humming-Charlie did what he could best; hummed. This made those two looking at each other, then at the last one.

"Looks like he's unable to speak, Squall," the blonde said to him. He turned back to Charlie. "What happened to you, gramps?"

"Oh come on, do you really think he'll answer if he is unable to speak?" the cowboy said. The blonde looked at him, ready to speak, but as it appeared he was unable to come up with a decent reply, he shut his mouth and stood up.

"I suppose we have to find someone else, then," he said.

The one called Squall cast a glance at the saloon, where the noise of a bottle breaking had just emanated from.

"We can check over there," Squall said. He and the two others headed towards the saloon. Humming-Charlie regretted he could not speak. But he would observe these people, as far as he could. He watched them as they made their way to the saloon, completely unaware that he would be able to see a lot of things in the upcoming days.

------------------------

The saloon used to be a cosy place back in the days. Candles burning on the tables, music being played, a lot of laughter and good drinks. Now it was not as lively, and not many people were talking loud. Save for the brash laugh from some of the men playing cards or the shattering sound when they decided to hurl their empty bottles against the wall. Smoke hung thick in the air, and the floor was littered with stains from tobacco being spit out.

When the three men entered the saloon, they received a lot of gazes. Some shook their heads and went back to beers or card playing or whatever they were up to. Squall didn't care, but walked straight up to the bar, followed by his two companions.

"Greetings," he said to the bartender, a young girl with brown hair and cheerful eyes.

"Good day," she said, unaffected by noises and shouting around her. "How can I help you?" She was dressed in a yellow, short dress, and just stood there, wiping a glass.

"A glass of water for me and my companions here. We're thirsty," The crowd in the saloon suddenly turned at them, then many of them burst out in laugh.

"Well, well, well, you guys dirty? Water is for washing, you pansies should learn to drink something more proper!" a man at a table shouted. He raised his bottle in the air, standing up. "Who drinks water when there's nothing better than whisky!?" He received audible cheers from the people around, some louder than others.

"We do," the cowboy said. "You drink whisky, we drink water, and we're all satisfied," he said before turning and smiled to the bartender who brought him the water. The man obviously did not expect being turned down so fast, and it clearly agitated him. He slammed his bottle down at the table, growling.

"Don't be smart with me, kid. Do you know who I am?" the man said threatening. The cowboy remained calm.

"No, I don't. I just came into town," he said. "Mind telling me?"

"I'm Mike Kinslayer, B3 under Vinzer Deling!" he growled. By this time, the majority of the saloon's guests had started pretending they had better things to do.

"I'm Irvine Kinneas. Pleased to meet you too," the cowboy said. "Now, if you could excuse me, I would like to drink my water and chat with a pretty bartender," he added before drinking his water in a huge sip and looking at the girl behind the desk. She giggled, but didn't let herself be affected. Kinslayer looked like he had been beaten at a card game he was certain to win, totally in disbelief that this one did not know, and absolutely did not care, that he was one of Deling's men.

"Just sit down, willya?" the blonde boy said. "Drink your whisky and leave us alone." That seemed to bring Mike Kinslayer back to his senses. An audible growl escaped him as he forgot all about the cowboy and went over to the other newcomer.

"You talkin' to me?" he growled, and put his face close up to the young man. Squall just stood silently by the bar, drinking his water, saying nothing.

"Who else? Now get your breath outta my face," the blonde said, and lifted his glass to take a sip of water. Mike growled. "You need to be taught some respect! Like I said, water is for washing, so wash your mouth!" Then he grabbed the glass, lifted it up and shoved all of the water over the boy's face. The boy pulled back, coughing from the water coming down his throat and nose.

"Why.. (cough) …why, you…,"

"Zell..," Squall said calmly. The one called Zell growled, but calmed down. Mike had an expression showing a mixture between pleasure over himself and annoyance over the man that interfered with his business. He left them and started to head back to his table.

"Don't ever talk like that to me again," he said. "You wuss."

"Sod off, Malboro breath!" Zell mumbled shortly. Kinslayer looked like he just received a slap across the face. Halfway towards his table, he whirled around, holding a gun in his hand.

"Take this, you son of a…" he said, pointing at Zell. The barmaid shrieked, and the bar fell dead silent, cut off by the sharp sound of a gun firing. Then a roar of pain echoed through the saloon, as Mike Kinslayer dropped his gun, then dropped to the floor himself, holding a finger that bled badly. All gazes shifted from him to Irvine Kinneas, who stood with a Derringer in his left hand, still pointing at Kinslayer. The other hand was pointing towards the table where his friends sat, thunderstruck, but with weapons within reach.

"Would you be so kind NOT to aim at my friend here?" he said. A few whispers started sounding throughout the saloon, otherwise people just sat as silent spectators to something that obviously was not common in this town. Squall sat down his now empty glass, turned around and went over to Kinslayer, kneeling down beside him.

"I'm not so fond of people making a mess out of nothing. Get lost!" he said low, before standing up and turning to his friends. "You, take him with you. And leave your guns at the table!" The way he said it booked no room for retort or disagreement. Kinslayer's men went over to him, and picked him up, followed closely by Irvine's guns.

"Deling will know about this!" Kinslayer shouted through gritted teeth before they went out of the door. Squall, Zell and Irvine just stood at the bar, now the centre of all attention from everyone in the saloon.

"Please go!" the girl at the bar suddenly said. The three turned around and looked at her. "Please. Just go. When Deling gets to know this, he will come here and…"

"Don't worry about him, milady," Irvine said.

"Yeah! We'll take care of him," Zell grinned.

"Zell, Irvine," Squall said. "Don't make promises you can't keep," He went to the bar and sat his eyes in the girl's. The eyes weren't cheerful anymore. They were frightened. "Who is the mayor of this town?"

"Mayor Cid Kramer," she answered. "As for now. In not long, Deling will be. But if you want to get to him, go to the court. He lives there. Could you go now, please?"

"Let's go," Squall said. Lots of eyes followed them as they went out of the bar…

---------------------------------------

I got the idea to this one when watching western on TV. Do you like it? R&R!

EDIT: I have updated this chapter, adding more relevance and corrected some grammatical errors. Will be editing the following chapters soon.